One at a time

Donald slammed into the sinks instead of Grey. The cigarette smashed between his upper right cheek and the mirror. He yelped, slapping at the fire scorching into his Bermuda tanned skin.

He spun his six foot frame and reached for Benny. Benny nodded, smiled politely and ducked hard and fast, his fist plowed into the half-back’s midriff.

Strangled gargling noises came from deep in his throat. Donald sank to his knees and stared in shock at the ashes and cigarette butts littering the floor.

In a human tidal wave, the team surged over Benny. He gave a bellow of outrage at their act of cowardice.

“One at a time,” he screamed. “Or five-” A fist in the solar plexus knocked the wind from his lungs, an elbow drove him to the floor.

They grabbed his arms and legs, stretching Benny on the filthy tiles of the boy’s lavatory.

Donald crept to his feet, his face red, his eyes narrowed and bitter cold.

“Indian-” He gasp and swallowed hard at what he’d had for breakfast. Clutching at his stomach, Donald hissed, “You’re dead.”

He grabbed Benny by the tee shirt and the old cloth ripped away. The ancient symbols glowered and stank faintly of charred flesh. Donald blanched.

“You’re dead meat, whore,” he whispered.

A black and blue stain covered Benny’s right side, the outline a sickly yellow over the cracked ribs he had suffered in the fight at the Blackman Street Bar.

Benny shifted. Trying not to think about what was to come he glared at Donald.

“Let’s cool him off first,” Donald said, his throat constricted and tight. He couldn’t take his eyes from the marks. They terrified him.

Opening his fly, a grim smile pierced his eyes. He coldly towered over Benny in an effort to dominate the unyielding truth in Benny’s own eyes.

The door slammed back.

A strangled voice yelped, “Mrs. Ritter? This is the boy’s room.” The air filled with the stench of scorched urine and wet ashes as dozens of cigarettes shhhed into urinals and toilets.

Eyes closed, choking on the fumes, Mrs. Ritter gagged.

“Nope, Erin, I don’t see any boys smoking in here.” She stepped back, then paused, listening to a chorus of relieved sighs and laughs.

Two Swords groaned. He yanked on her sleeve. Her guardian snarled at him, but subsided at a touch from the Eagle-Woman.

Mrs. Ritter sensed something. She stalked back in.

A knot of boys sagged away from her approach.

She eased through them. Her eyes glared down at Benny.

“What’s going on?” she snapped.

Dragging up his fly, the zipper caught in delicate flesh. Donald yelped and froze.

She rolled her eyes at the urine soaking the front of McGuire's shark skin pants. She glared at him. “Need a diaper, McGuire? And you?” Benny shivered.

“Uh . . . .”

Benny glanced around at the crowd. The lavatory was rapidly clearing out. “I must o’ fell, Mrs. Ritter.” His smile was brilliant, boyish and happy. Benny picked himself up and dusted his hands at the ashes and cigarette butts clinging stubbornly to his jeans and tee shirt.

“You have ten seconds to get to class, Grey. Move it.”

Benny nodded rapidly and hiccuped. He edged past her and ran.

She turned, spotted a glossy flash and plucked Donald’s lighter from his hands.

“This yours?”

He shivered and his head snapped back and forth several times in denial.

“I suppose these aren’t yours either?” Mrs. Ritter grabbed at his shirt pocket and snatched out the freshly opened pack of Reds. At fifteen dollars a pack, cigarettes were a status symbol few teens could live without, and few teachers could afford.

She moved through the team, snagging more packs.

“The bell just rang. Get to class.”

They piled through the bottle-neck of the lavatory door and scurried down the halls.

Crooking a finger at Erin, she motioned for the other teacher to join her in the boy’s lavatory.

“Pish, kid,” she snapped at the young, substitute teacher’s blush. “We got five minutes. You want to run all the way down to the lounge? Five minutes! Just enough time for a quick smoke. Move it or lose it.” She dangled a cigarette in front of the younger woman’s eyes.

The woman vaulted into the lavatory, the cigarette snapped from Mrs. Ritter’s hand in passing.

Benny slumped in his seat through the most deadly and boring class of all.

History.

Urk. His face twisted in distaste.

He tried to sleep and got rapped on the head.

Mrs. Ritter glared down at him and moved on, expounding in a hard, demanding voice the facts of some war in 1812.

Pulling the jacket close, he glared at her back. The tag on his tee shirt was digging a hole into his adams apple.

Benny tore it off.

Mrs. Ritter turned.

He froze. She glanced over the class and moved on.

His back stuck to the inside of the jacket, a further annoyance, but better than letting everybody see him wearing a rag for a tee. Glum and bored, he stared at the book on his desk.

She stopped before the front blackboard. Benny’s nose twitched, itching at the dry odor of chalk dust. His head nodded, his eyes drifted shut.

Carl and old man Conners looked on in horror as Raighleigh stepped between Benny’s legs. The doctor checked the straps, made certain his patient wasn’t going escape the stirrups during the short and very painful operation.

He smiled at Benny, lifted the cringing scrotum and made the first incision.

Mrs. Ritter walked past Benny and her foot accidentally kicked his boot.

Benny snapped out of the nightmare and flashed her a smile.

She glanced at him. The class sat in numbed silence.

He blanched.

Sweat rolled off his face, soaking into the tee shirt.

Benny licked his lips. She smiled, eyes tight, filled with the promise of millions and millions of reports to be done by him if he dozed off again. Benny’s head rattled a desperate yes.

She nodded slowly, and gracefully moved on, her voice strident, the words anything but boring now.

He closed his eyes and gasp under his breath in relief.

The closer the night came, the closer that night came, the worse the dreams were getting.

His hand eased down to the crotch of his jeans.

Benny grimaced, squirmed in the hard seat of his desk. He licked beads of cold sweat from the downy beginnings of a mustache, lips twisting at the bitter taste and the fears which brought a very real, very basic ache at scrotum level.

Man, but it had all been too close for call.

He blinked and pulled his hand away, tempted to check, just to make certain they were both still there. There was probably more scar tissue down there than balls anymore, it had come that close.

Man, but they ached at just the thought of what had almost been. They hurt like hell.

Benny grinned, his smile shaky, and slid down in the seat. His boots propped up on the rung of the desk in front of his. His knees spread wide to take away any pressure from his groin.

Mrs. Ritter leaned forward on her desk. She glanced at the clock and then at Benny.

To herself she muttered, “Dear God, let the kid be free, both of his past and the present. Ni:io.”

The bell screamed. He bolted from his desk.

“Walk,” Mrs. Ritter bellowed, “do not run. Go on, go home and have some fun. You earned it. Most of you, anyway,” she grumbled at Benny. How did he always manage to get to the door first?

Mrs. Ritter shouted, “Not you, Grey. Get back here.”

He edged back through the crush at the door and trotted to her desk, his face a dusky red of guilt.

“Where is it?”

Head rattling a yes, Benny reached into his back pocket and snatched out the assignment. He handed it to her. Then yanked it back, trying to press out the worse of the wrinkles, smearing the paper even more and tearing it.

Benny shoved it at her and slumped in a desk. Rusted metal and cracked plastic groaned under him.

The bell rang again and he jumped to his feet. Her hand flashed up, freezing him in place.

Benny scowled. If he got detention Mom would nail him to the wall. Shoot, one more detention and he was heading back to the reformatory, and that was on the word of his parole officer, the creep. He watched, his jaws working as Mrs. Ritter’s gaze devoured his paper. Benny hiccuped.

She took it to her computer, scanned it, and ran a few of Benny’s other papers on the screen. Darkly ominous, Mrs. Ritter’s eyes narrowed.

“You and Toddy are cousins,” she barked. “Right?”

Jumping up, Benny hurried to her. His head rattled a yes. Benny forced his face into an inscrutable blandness.

Peering hard at Benny over her reading glasses, Mrs. Ritter snapped, “It shows in your writing skills.” Her face hardened.

Crumpling the paper into a ball, she tossed it at Benny. “I want it back tomorrow, Grey. Neat, legible, and in your own words." In Old-Speech she snapped, “Kennen sie gut?”

Stopping just short of saluting her, Benny muttered, “Yes, ma’am.” He smoothed the paper, refolding it, and stuffed it into his back pocket.

Slipping away from her, an angry Benny muttered to himself for not getting around to copying it. But the bike needed to be checked, and -

“What? You want to do another report for me?”

Benny’s head rattled a denial.

“Then get out.”

Benny darted through the doorway, her glare scorched a hole through his jacket all the way down the hall.

Two Swords scowled happily at old lady Ritter. Ol’ bim, she sure loved his kid.

He watched Benny scurry away, Two Swords fell on the floor and howled with laughter.

His sword trilled angrily. Heart-a’-Fire twisted in the harness on his back and rapped him sharply with her fist sized balance.

From the shadow of a doorway a kid known as Smear for the face paint his wore, watched Benny dart from the classroom. Smear shoved his hands in the pockets of his ragged coat and drifted after Benny, his face a careful blank, eyes dull.

Benny jumped off the bus. The sun was going down, the whole Valley cast in its bloody red light.

He scowled, pointing at Uncle Charlie’s screeching twins, and was gratified to see her smile waver ever so slightly when the girls paused the mouth of her unkempt driveway. They stuck out their tongues and moved off in a huff, noses in the air, skinny arms entwined. A thin tendril of smoke eased up from Leda’s shack and was gone. The Twins might be strange, but they could be deadly, too.

Leda’s eyes grew cold. She rubbed her crotch and moved her hands as if counting money, then waved her hand at the open door.

Benny shivered. He closed his eyes and wished he had never done it with that Chillin, Leda’s most expensive girl. That one stupid act had through Leda’s blackmail cost him his honor, his sanity, and very nearly his manhood.

Todd moved up to stand with him. Benny glanced at him, his face easing in relief at the solid presence of his cousin.

Todd looked back. Leda was still on her porch, her face lit with a greedy hunger. Benny had been the main attraction of her stables a year ago. Since the story about the Manse broke she had been hurting financially, for Leda.

He stopped, a toothy grin on his dark face that was pure insult. Todd pointed up at the lightening struck white pine snag and the raven’s nest.

Leda screamed a low growl of terror and hate and drove her bloated body through the open door.

He got back from the next morning’s milking, crawled up the ladder to his loft, to flop on the bed.

The next thing he knew the sun was shining and his mother was shaking him hard, a friendly grin on her pretty face.

Sleepily, Benny grinned back. It was the first smile he had seen on Mom since the cops had come, hauling Carl away two days ago for parole violation.

“Can I have my keys, Mom? Please,” he ask, his face ashen and twisted. Was it Carl’s Uohali-Red Sun? “It’s been over a week.” His head jerked around, his eyes wide. “Carl,” Benny shouted. “He’s back.” Benny leaped from the bed and dragged on his boots.

“Please, Mom,” he said, his words breaking Anna’s heart. “I gotta see him, just to see if he’s OK.”

“Stay away from Carl, Benny,” Anna whispered. “It’s better for him if you do.”

She gave the Veil of the Sun a sad smile. In the old traditions, Benny was a man at the age of fifteen. In this day and age, society tried to prevent that from ever occurring. The Janissary Project was another thing entirely.

Weary beyond belief, Anna sagged. She moved down the ladder and dug into her purse, the one place so sacrosanct even Benny did not dare venture, and found his keys.

A flash of red through the wild lilacs and laurels along the road caught her eye. Carl and his almost cherry Uohali Red Sun.

She glanced at Benny. The days he wanted mothering were long passed. He needed a man to show him the way now. With sorrow in her eyes, she tossed the keys up through the trapdoor.

Benny whooped and dived after them through the trapdoor. He snatched the keys out of the air, and bounced through the living room, then slammed out, bellowing, “Thanks, Mom,” in a voice that was as deep and strong as ever his father’s had been.

Anna opened her mouth to yell him to be careful, and the walls exploded. Surrounded by clouds and blue sky, she stood frozen. A wall of mist shifted and swirled. The sun enveloped her, warmed her. Words were spoken into her soul.

Anna looked down and saw two motorcycles in a reckless charge through heavy traffic on route 309 into Wilkes-Barre.

The world shifted and the floor rushed up to greet her as an ancient Uohali-Night Sun bellowed and sputtered down the Sandy Valley road.

Benny kicked her down hard, letting the Night Sun jounce over the broken cobbles and onto the lane. He skidded a little, twisted the accelerator and roared away from the house.

He made the turn onto Owl Hell road too fast, but just right. The rear end slewed, showering red gravel in the thick ruts of the cross roads, just enough to give Benny a hard a thrill before he righted the old war horse and sent her charging up the slight grade to the bridge over the creek.

The planks of the bridge rattled and bounced under the Night Sun’s wheels, gaping a little to show murmuring waters and sharp rock just below the planks.

Hearing a bellow, he shot a glance to the right and turned that way instead of into Leda’s drive. He dived between the bushes and onto a well defined and muddy trail leading back to the old white pine snag.

She gave Benny a hard, calculating gaze that darkened his face with shame and shortened his temper.

Her smile was caustic, mocking, and he recognized it for what it was. Leda never changed in all the years he’d known her. She was trying to get him to say or do something that would enrage Carl.

Leda’s eyes narrowed. A bitter gaze raked down the stained tee shirt to his groin. Benny chilled. He started to draw his knees up, then though better of it.

Benny spread his legs wide and gave Leda the bird, the finger upside-down between his legs. The middle finger snapped back into the fist. Even Leda could read that sign. You ain’t worth the effort.

A snarl ripped across her face. She looked at him and her hand rubbed, possessive, across Carl’s unshaven cheeks. Long, well manicured nails scraped the stubble.

Her lips said, Does it hurt, Benny? If you want to live with Carl, come live with me. Both of you are mine.

He saw it, and Carl growled a warning. Carl shoved her hand from his face. Sounding remarkably like her cat, Leda hissed and sprang away.

Watching Leda through cold reptilian eyes, Carl felt sick to his stomach.Soon, baby, soon. I’m takin you out, and my kid here and my old lady will be safe from you.

His smile mocked Leda. All that A-Team type training the Marines had done him for would do it. Get rid of Leda and her whole pack at one time. Blooya.

A chilling radiance filled Carl. He grinned at Benny and jerked a net shopping sack from the icy waters of the creek. Carl touched the bottles in the sack. Yo, felt like they were already frozen, and here it was, barely the end of October.

Benny snatched the bottle from the air, twisted the top off in a flash of white teeth and chugged it down. He grinned, belched loudly, and manfully crushed the plastic with one hand. It was bio-degradable, so he tossed it in the laurels and held out his hand for another.

“Chill it,” Leda said, shrill with jealousy. “Leave a few for the rest of us.”

Carl laughed at her. He snapped another at Benny and snorted at Leda’s bitter red face.

“Stuff it, Leda. You snagged two before the skins were even cold. He’s my kid, and if he wants to drink a keg dry, he can.”

Leda snorted, but clamped her jaws shut. Sullen now, she chugged her beer. None of it was going the way Ryan planned.

She finished the beer, tossed the bottle in the creek, then reached over Carl to a second net bag.

Carl stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth. Hot RedaCinn from the smell of it. Leda wrinkled her nose in disgust. The things that resided in Leda stirred, wary of the scent.

With an eye on Benny, she leaned over Carl and moved her lips and hands in sensuous motions over the hard body of the big man. She was panting for him. Before, Carl couldn’t because he was in pain from losing his child and from the bottle he was slowly drowning himself in. Now he had told her never again would he touch her, that only Anna was woman enough for him, she was growing insane for him.

His hand cracked down hard on Leda’s. She cried out, furious with him for daring to strike her.

Face reddened, Benny turned from them. Carl was fully aroused by Leda, his jeans so threadbare it was a wonder they could contain him.

Benny suppressed a grin. That nutty old raven was up there, sitting quiet as a church mouse. Probably hoping to snatch more of Leda’s frowzy peroxide hair for his nest.

“Yo.” The big man laughed. “They stuffed me in a cell and then that jerk Miller come down and read me the riot act. I laid onto that pig, bro. Told him I wasn’t working for his cousin no more, and that was final.” Carl stretched and yawned hugely. “He said I was gone, dude. They were gonna take me to Philly and Eastern Pen-” Carl snickered at Benny’s shudder.

“Some news sharks were there when they hauled me to the van . . . I yelled at them and they knew me from the Manse. Miller screamed his head off, but the Speaker is doin’ a write-up on war heroes being used and abused by the system. And,” he added softly, “Now I got permission to reopen the shop. Me and Jacobowitz, up on Laurel Street, doing what we do best, kid.” Carl gazed in near adoration at his motorcycle.